


The Forgotten Black

by beepboop_words



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Dies, Regulus Black Feels, Young Regulus Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beepboop_words/pseuds/beepboop_words
Summary: I've been in the Regulus feels lately and have been with the marauder era for a long time that i can no longer return to the golden trio era with as much interest as beforetaid = grandfathernain= grandmothertad = fathermam = motherI don't own any characters in this fandom or story except for maybe Alys, Bethan, and Leuan Griffiths, I have 0 clue but I do know i made up the characters just listed, all by myself so yeah, lolI don't support Rowling nor do I support her offensive and harmful beliefs
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, brief mentions of - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Forgotten Black

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any inaccurate information.

If there was one thing Regulus Black loved, it was the rain pouring outside his window.

He had fond memories of wearing Sirius's old tattered aerosmith shirt, curling up to himself on the sit by the window and reading books as the rain poured. 

At times it could irate him, the sound of all the droplets reaching the ground could make him uncomfortable and anxious. But more often than not, the sounds soothed him, making them wonderful background noises as he read the newest book that made him read without break. 

As much as he’d enjoy poems, stories, etc., he couldn’t understand emotions. He wasn’t heartless. The thought of an animal in pain made his heart slightly hurt though he couldn’t understand what it was. He couldn’t say it was guilt or sadness more like a pressure on his heart, a hand tightly gripping it but never a certain emotion.

Often, he would forget to eat and sleep, for he had to complete the book, story, or poem that had caught his interest. It left him with eyebags but he couldn’t bring himself to care, too much. 

If he wasn’t able to read, he’d play on his piano or violin and softly sing or hum to the melody vibrating in his head. 

At times he would bring out clear canvases and go with the flow, typically creating something reminiscent of his mood. 

He’d quite enjoyed drinking tea and reading ancient stories such as Virgil's Aeneid, and Echo and Narcissus. He’d particularly appreciated the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He did enjoy tea but black coffee was a must.  
However, the day he discovered monster energy drinks was the day his parents couldn’t tell him muggles were awful creatures.

That day he was walking aimlessly, hoping for something to attract his attention before he had to go off to wizarding london, and oh boy was he in for a shock.  
There, in the corner of the block, was this little shop.  
It’s metal pillars were rusting and the cloth cornice at the front of the window had holes in it, but that didn’t deter his curiosity, it induced it.  
He peered into the door finding no one in sight.  
As he was about to knock, the door suddenly opened.  
This old lady wearing these long dangly feather earrings, a long sleeved bohemian dress with grey inch boots, black hair with grey streaks from old age, dark brown eyes, expressionless face, and tattered book in hand was holding the door open.  
With a welsh accent, she said hoarsely, “Drinks to the right, don’t cause no trouble cymar, I’ll be off in the back with my mam and tad, dont be a hurtyn,” at his nod, she opened the door wider, “c'mon, we don’t have all day,” she said with an expecting look.  
He quickly scurried in and moved to the right as the lady walked around the counter and walked through the curtain, saying,"Rwy'n ôl, mae'n ddrwg gennyf ei bod wedi cymryd yn hir, roeddwn i gyda chwsmer," the voice was fading and he only briefly heard the words, cariad, bara brith, and blasus.  
He curiously, looked around.  
The shop was homey.  
On one of the walls, there was a bulletin board that had pictures of guests stating their worry of their disappearance, along with a picture of them smiling and small writing on the bottom.  
Underneath, was a parchment that had 53 euros written, placed on the worn down dresser. Next to it was a purple cloth covered lamp, hanging above it, to the right, was a painting of King Arthur. In front of that was a table with clothes with various prices along with books on a corner table that also had price tags placed on it. To the left was a bookshelf that had a wide range of topics but were all in all short in size and also tattered. Near that area was a small glass mini fridge, with perishables in it. There were various intricate designs on numerous rugs that lay on the slightly dusty floor. There in the front of the store was a long marble counter that had a register laying on it along with a typewriter that looked to be for sale and other books that lay stacked on it. Behind that was two similar pink shade curtains separated only by a cracked white wall. 

The place looked homey. 

It wasn’t what he was used to but it was appealing in its own way. After looking he carefully opened the mini fridge which revealed various drinks. One that really caught his attention was a black aluminum drink with a slimy looking m on it. It made him curious so he quickly grabbed it and headed over to the counter. 

There he found a silver bell that he hadn’t noticed before, he rang it, and tapped his foot anxiously. 

Moments later the same lady as before came out and looked at him snidely before saying, ”Always the posh people who tap their foot like that,” she simply moved to ring up the item before continuing, “innit?”

Wide eyed and gaping, he shaked his head and said, “I s'pose though, for me, it's from being anxious, it’s a habit. Mother did try to stop it but she made it worse, kept going about it the wrong way. You know the physical way. Load of shite, if you ask me, excuses to unleash her insanity, anyway thanks for the food,” he gave her the money before getting ready to walk out.

She looked at him puzzledly before her face became tense and asked, “She beat you?”

He inclined his head at her before saying, “Still does, do you mind if I go, time limits, you never know how much rage she feels til then but best not to induce it.”

She gaped, shook her head, and looked at him with determination, all previous taunting and puzzlement gone, “I can’t do much for you cariad but come back in a bit for tea,” she said it more as a statement so he merely nodded softly before leaving.

He had been coming back ever since to drink tea, read, converse, buy more drinks, but mostly because the lady, Alys, had become like a mother figure to him and would help bandage some of his wounds up. He met Alys’s mam and tad and considered them family as did they.  


He learned bits and pieces of welsh. He had wanted to learn the basics for welsh but found himself getting distracted easily. He knew enough to establish cariad meant love, dear, sweetheart, while cymar meant mate, didn't know what hurtyn meant but could assume it meant a ruffian or idiot of sorts.  
One day he had come into the shop drinking tea with Alys like normal before his taid suddenly dropped to the floor, and his nain said his heartbeat was beating far too fast for their likening. He had quickly called for help but it was too late, his taid’s heartbeat had dropped and his nain and Alys were crying as he let his own sobs rack his body.

He and Alys and nain had met together more often after the funeral before his nain had called crying saying Alys was in bed all morning leaving her irritated so she tried to wake her up but couldn’t feel her breathing. He had rushed over there embracing his last family member before she too had drawn her last breath months later.

After that, life was getting harder to live and then he found out about the horcrux.

Kreacher had come to him, dying, but he wouldn’t let him, he already lost too many loved ones and he wasn’t gonna let more die, at least not til it was truly their time.

He bandaged him and used his subpar healing to help him. Because Kreacher barely survived he quickly decided he needed to study healing. Despite the protests from Kreacher to eat and sleep that came every so often, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He kept to his room, no longer acknowledging anyone's presence other than the books.

Book after book, duel after duel, self harm day after day, to simply satisfy his need for knowledge to heal. Because of this, scars collected more and more on his body. He also used the people he was forced to see torture as subjects for his healing. Soon he was one of the more advanced healers to exist in the wizarding world.

He was particularly advanced in potions, runes, arithmancy, and the other more logical subjects. That didn’t mean he wasn’t good at other subjects simply not as great as these. 

He tends to have zero regard for his own safety, he’s short but likes to insists he is tall, loves to stargaze because of andromeda, sirius, narcissa, and their nights stargazing before they drifted apart, has cold hands so constant mittens, his beauty marks that are overshadowed by his scars, his lack of social skills, his sarcastic comments, and his newspaper clippings about the same man that disgusts him but will be remembered unlike him, he will be forgotten.

The Forgotten Black, has a nice ring to it, thinking briefly before letting out a bitter laugh.

Here he is in a cave, to be forgotten while a disgusting, bald, grey old man will be remembered and oh how he hates that.

At least Kreacher is alive, alive and destroying a horcrux.

Maybe one day he'll find peace or maybe he'll just stay in this cave as an inferi.

Knowing his luck, it'll probably be the latter.

He’ll miss Sirius and the brief moments of happiness they shared, a brother who now wishes him dead. Guess he'll get his wish soon enough.

Kreacher will move on with his life, hopefully he’ll be happy now that he no longer has to serve the Noble and Ancient House of Black. It’ll get better, he knows that. But there is a sort of relief in not fearing the next death will be your own or someone you care for.

And at least James is happy. He has finance and soon a kid, I'm sure. He’d be a great father…

The oxygen left his body instead replaced with water. He could no longer think, it was too suffocating. His body felt like it was burning yet he felt so cold and, and-

His body now far away from the view of anyone within the cave much less outside it.  
His screams are no longer loud but instead, void.  
All previous thoughts are deserted.  
All that is left are the memories.

2 letters arrived several days after his death.  
One to his brother and the other to his ex lover.

**Author's Note:**

> Welsh is very interesting. I think I may have accidentally found myself itching to know more about it. Sorry for any mistakes or inaccurate information, please inform me. 
> 
> Rwy'n ôl, mae'n ddrwg gennyf ei bod wedi cymryd cyhyd, roeddwn i gyda chwsmer =  
> I'm back, sorry it took so long, I was with a customer
> 
> blasus = delicious/yummy  
> bara birth = It's bread enriched with dried fruit and either made with yeast or with self-raising flour, traditionally flavored with tea or dried fruits and mixed spices. It's served sliced and buttered at tea time.
> 
> Kudos and comments would be appreciated, no pressure tho  
> -Emrys :)


End file.
